


like a heathen clung to a homily

by pilzformig



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Era, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Punching, Rough Oral Sex, Tears, no beta we die like men, oh god oh fuck its my first fic idk how to tag, ok we should be good., theres no explicit consent but they r both very into it dont worry., uhhhh, unintentional angst. just sorta happened.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19832794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilzformig/pseuds/pilzformig
Summary: Enjolras wakes up Grantaire after a meeting at the Musain, and a conversation leads elsewhere. And then it leadselsewhere.





	like a heathen clung to a homily

**Author's Note:**

> this is basicly my first fic ever,,  
> un-beta’d, lol. feel free 2 point out any mistakes.  
> title is from _moment's silence (common tongue)_ by hozier. i def get an e/R vibe from this song, and this line especiallyyyy!!!!  
> i got really stuck on like. everything but especially characterisation in general? idk shit about enjolras and grantaire. we just out here. also writing. writing is so hard.  
> anyway, I really like this kind of dynamic with enjolras and grantaire, so I decided to write some!! and im really excited to be posting on here after reading fics on here for years. I hope u enjoy.

It’s a late night at the Musain. Hours and hours of planning and talking and god knows what, and now the sky is dark and barely a soul is out in the streets surrounding. But the meeting has just wrapped up, finally, and everyone is packing up, glad to go home

After most have already left, two remain: Enjolras, preoccupied with something and slow to get his things together to go, and Grantaire, passed out in a corner, unaware of the room’s state of occupation.

Enjolras, finally ready to leave, looks over to Grantaire. He walks over and shakes him gently. Grantaire stirs, stares up at Enjolras until wakefulness and recognition set in, and then grins.

“Ah, our leader. Taking pity on the drunken fool? Your benevolence knows no bounds.”

Enjolras gives a short sigh. “My pleasure,” he says drily, turning to the door.

Grantaire gets up and, after a second to adjust himself to standing, calls out to him, “Seriously, the poor and needy of Paris must think of you as unto some God, given your compassion.”

“Grantaire, I know you’ve just woken, so it may be hard for you to keep control over some functions, but there really is no need for you to blather on like you are right now.”

“Oho, perhaps I have spoken too soon. I take it back! How will you help the needy when you will not even humour a drunkard’s ramblings! Honestly, I am in disbelief.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “It’s been a long night, Grantaire,” and then, “You know as well as any that I’ll be a fine leader for the people.”

“Of course, of course. You have the passion, the vehemence. You seem to have the people, but we’ll see about that when the time comes…” Grantaire smiles for a moment, lets out a small laugh. He says, putting on an air of drama, “But Enjolras, do you have the combat skills? In you, I mean, to fight man to man? I’ve never seen you training for it before.”

“Need I remind you, Grantaire, that while you seem only to be getting started, I am ready to start my short walk to my apartment to get to a bed and sleep,” Enjolras says. He says it in a dry way that could be taken seriously, but below it, it’s clear that he doesn’t mind being here so much at all. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t give up the opportunity to show me your prowess, would you?”

Enjolras gives an amused laugh. He seems slightly in disbelief at his own amusement, but gestures to Grantaire to go on.

“Come, then,” Grantaire says. “Show me you are capable physically of leading this revolution; for I know you have the conviction.”

“Oh, of course you do. You think I haven’t noticed you staring at me every meeting? You clearly don’t come for the sentiment of the revolution, as you have elaborated on so many times.”

Grantaire gives a trembling half-smile, caught off guard. “You say that as though any man would not be swayed to some degree by your spirit! Even if he weren’t convinced of your cause. As I have seen your spirit, show me now what I haven’t observed of you.”

“How? We haven’t any swords here, and I’m sure the guns stored here would be a little more destructive than is useful.” 

“Fists, then, dear leader.”

Enjolras is not entirely sure if Grantaire is serious or not. He hasn’t been sure since this has started. He rolls his eyes. Grantaire crosses his arms, waiting for an answer.

So, what? Does Grantaire mean for Enjolras to prove himself in some way? To show he means what he says? But Grantaire, of all people, knows that Enjolras is genuine in every sentence he speaks at the Musain. Does Grantaire mean to make a fool of him? Enjolras knows the skill Grantaire has with boxing, the singlestick. But Enjolras hasn’t gone this whole time preparing for a damn rebellion without picking up a thing or two about brawling. They would be a good match for each other, he is sure.

Or does he give this challenge in jest?

But God, it’s been meetings upon meetings upon meetings, of Grantaire showing up to discourse, to mock, to do nothing of use for this rebellion that is Enjolras’ entire purpose.

So against his better judgment, against the morals of the rebellion (for Grantaire is not an authority figure to be knocked down, nor even any real threat to the cause), Enjolras lunges at him and throws him to the ground.

Grantaire goes down hard, lands on his shoulder, grunts in pain. After the shock of surprise, the shock of Enjolras’ hands on him (if only for a second of violence), Grantaire laughs, and turns to lie on his back and stare straight up. “Yes, oh glorious leader! You will be a match for the National Guard when they come to quash you. And better yet, you have stained those immortal hands with the sins of man, so base and unworthy of your higher cause. How does it feel?”

Enjolras does not know how he feels. He is a little aghast at what he has just done. He looks at Grantaire, at a loss for words. “I-“

“Oh, do not condemn yourself. I challenged you.” Grantaire gets to his feet. “Again”

This time Grantaire is ready for him. Enjolras rushes forward and Grantaire side steps it easily.

“Again, again, show me you mean it, show me the force of your rebellion, fool! Show me you think life means something, make me believe in your ridiculous cause!”

Enjolras is completely bewildered, but Grantaire’s speech has made him more and more impassioned.

“I know this rebellion will be for nothing, I know you’ll die without changing anything, can you prove to me you won’t?” Grantaire continues, and he’s shouting now, baiting Enjolras shamelessly. “Show me now before you are dead and everything is the same!” 

His tirade is cut off when Enjolras punches him in the face. Enjolras stares in horror for a split second before he realises that he has done exactly what Grantaire wants.

Grantaire, whose nose is now bleeding freely, grins and exhales sharply before turning his head back from the position it was punched to.

Enjolras takes a step back. 

Grantaire takes a step towards him, then another. He reaches a hand to the blood on his face, then moves it towards Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras raises his own arm quickly, grips Grantaire’s wrist before he can touch the bloody finger to Enjolras’ unmarred flesh. Grantaire stares at him, expression incomprehensible, and Enjolras takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes and lets Grantaire cup his cheek.

After a few seconds Enjolras jerks away, the stickiness and hotness of the blood suddenly too much. Grantaire remains, arm raised, red hand limp in its reverence. 

Enjolras stares. He is aware that something has happened between them, that something could happen again soon, but his mind is muddled with the bizarreness of Grantaire’s actions, and he can’t quite put his finger on what exactly--

Grantaire has put a finger in his mouth to suck the blood off.

Enjolras stops thinking about whatever he was thinking about and breathes in sharply. He walks over to Grantaire again, who sinks to his knees. The blood has been all but cleaned off of his hand, which now comes to rest upon the calf of one of Enjolras’ boots. Grantaire stays with his head bowed, looking at his hand, expression one of breathless rapture. He chokes slightly on a sob as he rises so that his head is level with Enjolras’ groin, where a bulge is noticeable, and growing. Enjolras, still a little in disbelief at the situation, places a hand in Grantaire’s hair. And then Grantaire is fumbling desperately at Enjolras’ breeches, taking Enjolras’ cock in his mouth, moving his hands to clutch at his back. 

Enjolras rocks his head back and gasps, and then Grantaire pulls off and grabs Enjolras’ other hand, pulling it to his head. He presses it there and looks up to Enjolras, who gets the message and pulls Grantaire roughly onto him again, thrusting hard. Enjolras holds his head there as he fucks into him, groaning and gasping. Grantaire for his part has his eyes squeezed closed, and is choking and gagging in abject ecstasy. Tears spill down his cheeks, and the blood still trickling from his nose is smearing everywhere. His hands are now both occupied under his trousers.

They go on like this for a little longer, all heat and thrusting and pulling, until Grantaire stiffens for a moment, and then slackens, body limp in bliss as Enjolras continues to use it.

Then Enjolras is coming down Grantaire’s throat, and Grantaire is bringing his hands to Enjolras’ hips and keeping his mouth in place as Enjolras finishes. 

They pause for a moment, and then Enjolras’ hands come down to Grantaire’s cheeks. He sinks down beside Grantaire and sighs. Both of them wait for the other to say or do something. Then, Enjolras pulls Grantaire to him and holds him close, buries his face in his neck. Grantaire takes a moment to react, but he brings his arms around to press Enjolras into him, and breathes in the smell of his hair. He is still crying, but not for the same reason as before.

**Author's Note:**

> also don’t know where the whole ‘lmfao enjolras can u even fight’ thing came from, I just kind of needed it in there to get to the things I wanted to write.


End file.
